Trying to understand you
by TheMangaKats
Summary: Sherlock was gone. John watched him jump just a few weeks ago. For two years everything just ran itself. The one thing bringing life to his mechanical everyday life again, is the reappearance of his lost friend dragging him back into a life both known and completely new to him. (Johnlock!)
1. Chapter 1 - The Message

**To try and understand you**

I'll try to stick as close to the original characters as possible, but as Irene Adler already pointed out: „[...] the problem with a disguise? However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait." Little instructions for the better understanding of my style :D  
"..." = talking  
/.../ = thoughts  
'…' = quotations  
I am not natively speaking English, but I do consider myself quite good, nevertheless there, of course, will probably some typos an the like and my style might just so happen to not appeal you that much ^^'' (I do appreciate criticism if any of that is the case – I want to improve and be likeable in the end, wouldn't I?)  
I do wish you to have fun reading the first, yet maybe not all that catchy, chapter.

**Chapter 1 - The Message**

/"The stuff that you wanted to say... Say it now!"/  
Yeah, of course. Of course not! Of course he couldn't say it. How could he?! Was he really supposed to tell his (former) therapist all that's in his heart?!  
Sure, that would've been just normal, but... He couldn't tell Sherlock; couldn't tell himself, so how was he supposed to tell a practically stranger person?! No, that was simply impossible.  
The cab he had called finally slowed down. As if in trance he got out of the car and automatically approached and entered the house, climbed the stairs, pushed open the door and sank into his armchair. Placed his arms on the armrests. His body hugging the back of the piece of furniture. Legs leaning against the foot of the chair. And still you could see the tension: The head just didn't want to relax back into the neck. Dark, grey circles beneath his eyes, but his eyelids just didn't want to meet. He was overtired. Mercilessly overtired, but he just couldn't sleep in the last three days. He was absent most of the time – just like now – but that wasn't enough for his body to recover, of course, and the doctor knew that perfectly.  
He wouldn't be able to sleep. Not with the thought of Sherlock supposedly being dead. Pah: 'supposedly'... he had seen it himself very clearly – the jump, the corpse, the funeral... Somehow he always thought Sherlock would survive anything, just to prove his superiority. No, Sherlock Holmes would not die that easily. Yet the corpse...  
An inner conflict broke out, turned into a fight, ended up in a war. "Tse!" John uttered scornfully. /I return from war, meet the probably most remarkable personality, make him my first friend since all the suffering that I've seen and now that he is gone I return to war again. Mental war somehow seems to be a lot more unnerving than Afghanistan, though... Astonishing, isn't it? How a single person can turn another live upside down just by.../ He did not dare to finish his thought. It would just feel as if he'd betray him, deny him... deny his brilliance.

"John, what are doing again? Why do you still come up here instead of joining me downstairs? I don't want to push you out of here every day..."

John awakened from his trance.

"John... You should really go and search a new flat. It isn't good for either of us, if you come and sit here every day."

But he just didn't want to move. He wanted to wake up from this endless nightmare.

"It's fine Mrs. Hudson, just leave me alone." short, laconic, determinant.

Fine? Nothing was fine, absolutely nothing. Without knowing whether or not Mrs. had left or not, he just went absent again.  
Fine was nothing, and he sat there until evening, not moving at all. Eventually he lifted jerkily, reeling for a second or two and actually made his way downstairs, not to visit his landlady, but to get the newspaper, to search for a flat that needed to be rented urgently. And he found something. Pretty far from Baker Street – pretty appealing. He called the given number and asked for a visit, then he made himself some tea. And then he got back into the armchair and sat there all night, just looking into nothingness.

The next day he went to get his appointment for visiting the flat. He took a shower and tried his best for his looks, which was a challenge due to his current state, and met the person – an effort he wouldn't have put into this if he didn't seriously want to escape the life he had lived with his best friend. He tried to be as natural in his politeness as possible, though he never had been good at hiding his feelings. Unlike Sherlock, that always so cold, arrogant idiot, who left him without giving him a real explanation. Left him with all this pain... Still, he got the flat and moved in very soon and after a while he also searched for a job nearby.

Two years passed. John had met someone. A woman his age – Mary. Her attempts to flirt with him he didn't even notice. For him she was his best friend, helping him handle his grief. She had moved in with him because she herself had just left her boyfriend and didn't want to leave John alone – so they shared the flat. Just like back then, with _him_. He even stopped thinking his name over the time, though he did open more and more, lived like a human again and he came to terms with _his _death, had never managed to overcome it, though.

One day, when he was at the supermarket with Mary, his phone rang. Mary was standing right next to him and Mycroft didn't contact him for over a year now. Irritatedly he took the device out of his pocket and turned on the display.

**1 message **from **Sherlock Holmes**

John's heart stopped beating for a moment that felt like at least half a minute.  
That was impossible! Sherlock's phone was in their former flat. The police had him take it with him and he remembered perfectly throwing it onto _his _bed! Therefore it was impossible for someone to play a trick on him and the old lady would most likely not do something like this!  
John just continued staring at the device in his uncontrollably shaking hand. Finally he opened the message with an unbearably fast beating heart.

**5.38 pm | **Come here, solve my case. SH


	2. Chapter 2 - Stumbling

Hello! I decided to try and upload weekly, so there will be a new chapter every Sunday (hopefully - you never know, right^^'). For now I have lots of chapters that I only need to translate and upload, but at some point my repertoire will be fully used and I'll have to write new chapters first (though I think I'll write them in English and then translate to German - it seems to be easier for me that way around :D).

Again I wish you have fun reading this chapter! Leave me some feedback so I know what to improve and what to leave the way it is ;) Also: If you find missused terms and/or missspelled words, please tell me! I would be more than happy to improve my, in some points lacking, vocabulary ^^

Well, enough for now! Have fun!  
Kats

**Stumbling**

**5.38 pm | **Come here, solve my case. SH

A message as such... he didn't know anyone who would send him something like this...

**5.40 pm | **You know where to find me. I've been lying here forever. SH

"John? John?!" Mary's voice started to reach his conscience.

"John, are you all right?"

After staring into nothing for a while he winked vigorously, answered her breathlessly "Sorry, I need to- need... need..." and stormed out of the store, hailing a taxi and driving away immediately.

When they arrived he through the money onto the front passenger's seat and stormed through the building's door. He ran up the stairs as if he was possessed and threw open the door in front of him and there he was, just lying there, pale as he'd always been. Glassy, empty eyes staring at the ceiling. Unsure about what he was seeing he observed _his_ slowly rising and lowering chest. John's body was trembling. Finally that head, the home of those stinging, blue eyes, with that cold stare the doctor had missed so badly the last two years, was tilted to face him.

John collapsed, but got up again almost immediately to take some steps towards the detective. In his absent-mindedness he hit his knee on the living room table, which he hadn't passed for so long. But even that he did not perceive.

The slender man sat up straight quickly and then lifted himself very slowly in front of his small friend. A glance of hopeful expectation flashed up in his iced-blue eyes. John, however, felt the deep anger rising inside of him and before Sherlock could realize what was happening he was already lying back on the sofa, his hand on his left cheek. John lowered his painfully pulsing fist – there was nothing that mattered to him that moment except for _him _being here and him feeling incredibly empty and numb.

"Two. Years... Two BLOODY YEARS YOU LET ME-" he took a deep breath in order to keep himself under control "...Do you have any idea just what you have done?!"

"Well, according to your reaction, I don't really know, but-"

"Shut up! That was a rhetorical question – of course you don't know because things like these just pass a cold idiot like you over a distance of hundreds of miles!"

Silence.

Sherlock highly surprised and John white by anger looked at each other.

Suddenly Sherlock stood up again leaving John no time to react in any possible way by enclosing him with his long arms and immobilising him by pressing him tightly against his body.

"But I now can imagine very well how you must have been and I am more than sorry.. But, John, I had no choice."

"You didn't explain to me back then why you suppedly jumped to your death..." again he tried to keep calm by taking deep breaths, but this time also to not collapse in his friend's arms "... care about telling me now just what the hell had happened?!" It sounded more like a demanding request, than a requesting demand.

"Moriarty. He left me no choice, which I had presumed and therefore made some precautions to make it look perfectly. If I hadn't done that..." he stopped to prepare his next words in order to say them as steadfastly as the previous "...His henchmen would have shot Mrs. Hudson. Shot Lestrade... Shot...you... I couldn't let that happen. Your death would have been real, you wouldn't have deserved that – dying for my cowardice. No. I'd rather have the world go without someone like me, than take away someone like you from it, someone who carries so much more goodness and is able to be a friend to others. The best I can do... is being less insulting and cold."

John was trembling. There was the quiet noise of air being sucked in sharply. Worrying he might have made John cry, Sherlock wanted to release him and offer him a little more room by loosening the tightness of his hug, but John pulled himself to him, clinging onto his shirt. Therefore the younger one decided to enclose the older with his arms again and seemingly also support his stand. John seemed as if he could be collapsing any second. This emotional weakness made Sherlock worry a little and while he left one of his hands around John's waist he had the other one run up into the short, blond-grey hair.

They stayed this way for a while until John pushed himself away from Sherlock gently and looked to the floor uncertainly.


	3. Chapter 3 - Unexpected

Hey, there! It's sunday, which means here's a new chapter for you :)  
I just wanted to thank ChickaDelSol for the first (and so far only) review! I would really like to read more feedback to this in order to know wheter it's good or not and what might need improvement.  
Anyway, just enjoy the chapter for now, please :P  
Kats

**Unexpected**

"Sh...Sherlock... I..." he pinched his lips. After he had pinched his eyes, too, he finally found the courage to look up at Sherlock again and was immediately stunned by fascination over his worried expression. All his anger had vanished, there was just him and the long missed, who was looking at him intensely as well. Their eyes met and John thought he and reality were drifting apart. The tension between them was unbearable and the former army doctor was praying for the distance between them to be bridged – he wished for nothing more then getting a kiss from the detective. And be it only for a split second and a hardly perceptible touch. Since the kiss seemed to never come to him, the older began to speak again instead, tried to find new words for the unfinished sentence. "I... I-" further he did not get since his begs were finally answered. A pair of unbelievably soft lips pressed gently against his own and before he could realise what was happening he just let himself go to this intimate moment.

The kiss was pulsing with emotions – emotions, that John had never expected to find in Sherlock. In this kiss he felt the longing for closeness that was tried to be suppressed by an uncertainty and he felt the yearning that obviously was not felt by him alone in the last two years. Additionally he felt the two hands removing themselves from his body and embrace his face, taking the shape of his jaw by carefully placing themselves beneath his cheekbones. Finally he moved his hands, too. One stops at that prominent cheekbone – gently stroking it in apology for the punch – the other strokes some curls out of the other's face, getting lost in them immediately.

After staying this way for a while they freed themselves from one another slowly and gently, yet did not look at the other – eyes still closed, minds switched off and hearts still lost in the amazing moment.

Almost simultaneously they opened their eyes and looked at each other intensely. John was still stunned by the sudden emotional outbreak of his younger friend – could it really be, that Sherlock had been in love with him for a longer time and he didn't notice? Could it really be, that in the past two years his emotions had amassed so much that he couldn't contain them any more?

Once again the long, cold fingers ran over John's face, then he sat down and asked the older to sit down as well.

As they sat next to each other they remained silent for a while until John broke the silence:  
"I, er..." he cleared his throat and scratched his head "... wh... why, Sherlock? What was that about?" he asked with a slightly shaking voice.

"I have been dead for two years and missed you.." Sherlock answered monosyllabic and monotonous as usual.

"Missed me... And do you kiss anybody you missed just like that?" he turned up his nose.

The detective turned his head to face John. However he didn't answer.

"I mean the others probably know it already, right? And did you... kiss them, too? Lestrade? Molly? Mrs. Hudson – more likely on the cheek there...? Your brother?"

"No." the deep voice answered.

/"No." - is that supposed to be it? 'No'?!/

"Molly was in on it because I needed her help. My brother as well." he went on unemotionally.

"Of course I missed Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, too, but I had known them years before I met you and until then I had had absolutely no problems keeping myself from emotions." he said in a reproachful undertone.

"Well, you seemed pretty emotionless to me until just recently." /Painfully emotionless.../

The younger remained silent.

John found this situation unbearable. He wanted to talk to his friend. For too long he hadn't seen him, hadn't heard his voice and now this. The older felt as if his friend was trying to mock him and that was, of course, not really appreciated. He wanted clarity about everything that had happened.

"What is this, Sherlock? Do.. d-do you blame me for something? Then please, tell me now! I am really not up to jokes right now!" said John feeling the anger coming up again.

Suddenly Sherlock got up and walked to the kitchen without saying a word and made tea. After a while he came back into the living room with a teapot and two cups, poured some tea in both cups and sat down again next to a seemingly offended John.. He took a sip and continuously stared at the floor in front of him. Only now John realised, that his friend's expression didn't look cold, but rather disturbed.

He spoke to him again in a much calmer and caring tone. "Sherlock? What is it? Are you all right?"

The younger managed whispering a "Great, John. I'm great." then he swallowed hard.

"Do you remember what I always say about emotions?"

"They are just distracting, especially when one is thinking..." The words he had spoken aloud himself stabbed his heart like a thousand needles. This was the proof he needed. To Sherlock it wasn't serious or maybe it was, but if so it had just been an accidental outbreak. The kiss had meant no future to them because even if the ice in his friend's eyes was melted, he would do anything to keep his heart frozen.

"And do you remember what I always said about love?" John thought he had heard his voice shaking lightly.

"... You always said it to be a human error..." He was fighting his tears now, but in this situation, with having said what he had just said, he really wanted to avoid the shame of crying in front of Sherlock.

"Are you in love right now, John? Do you have a girlfriend?" John looked at the younger surprised.

"N-no, why?" he stuttered.

"Because I found an error inside of me. And I believe you are the trigger..." Sherlock said almost whimpering, still not looking up from the floor.

John's mouth opened a little. Did Sherlock just confess his love for him? He just stared at the younger.

"I am sorry, John, if my disappearance hurt you, but I just wanted to protect you. Your live is far more important to me than my own. I wouldn't have endured a world without you for long anyway and everyone else wouldn't have endured me without you, so I chose the path that would mean the least suffering." Sherlock stopped there as if he had written down the text and then learned it by heart. Of course. He probably did prepare those words while he was staying silent – he usually isn't usually all that emotional, after all.

"I..." he finally started moving again. His head was swinging to and fro between John and the floor. He was obviously indecisive. But then he snorted one time and focussed on John. "I love you, John. I do since the first case that you participated in. You always praised – in an honest way – you even worried about me without even really knowing me and you kept me from possibly killing myself just because I wanted to proof something to myself." he ridiculed himself. "You saved me from myself more than just one time and always accepted me the way I am. Of course you've had your difficulties in dealing with me – I would've called you crazy if not – but somehow you seem to understand me and show consideration for me, while others would've pushed me away long ago, or rather have." There was a warmth in his iced-blue eyes and at the same time there was an uncertainty that made John want to just hold him close, but he kept his control. He wanted to listen to Sherlock, talk to him, not to let misunderstandings come up in this. His anger was long gone and meaningless.

For a long while his storm-grey eyes just laid upon Sherlock, looking at his very uncertain expression in bewilderment. He didn't find the words and so he just did what he originally didn't want to do and embraced him in a hug.

Relieved by his beloved's reaction Sherlock replied with the same action. Their bodies were so close, John could feel the other's heartbeat.

"I love you too, Sherlock." he whispered to the pale nape and placed a gentle kiss on it.


	4. Chapter 4 - Closeness

Hey, there! Ok, so I have to tell in advance: This was my first slash chapter ever! On top of that, this is my first slash chapter translated into English ever. I promise that it gets better over time, though I don't know whether this is actually that bad or I'm just really harsh to myself :D  
So, yeah, here's some slash or lemon or whatever the hell you want to call it ;)

Enjoy yourselves ^^

Kats

**Closeness**

"I love you too, Sherlock." he whispered to the pale nape and placed a gentle kiss on it.

Sherlock pressed him to himself even stronger and ran his hand up into the short hair. They wanted to make the most of their reunification. John slowly freed himself from Sherlock's grip, looked up to him, let his look wander from Sherlock's eyes down to his mouth and leaned towards him. The younger followed his actions, tilted his head slightly and leaned down to his smaller friend. The rhythm of their hearts got more hectically and after they both skipped a beat when their lips met, their pulse rose again.

John gently ran one hand up and down on Sherlock's back, the other he lightly pressed onto his neck. Sherlock's didn't stay idle and while with his one hand he continued stroking John's head, he placed the other on his chest, slowing moving it up to his shoulder.

After a few seconds the kiss intensified. Got more demanding. Over and over again they separated just to press against each other again. After a while Sherlock's tongue stroke John's lips and he willingly opened for it. The deep kiss drew both protagonists into its game and they began to quietly and gaspingly breath into it.

Sherlock's hand ran down from John's shoulder back his chest and beyond searching for a possibility to get under his jumper. When it found an entrance it ran all over the muscular body until it pressed him backwards gently but determined. Willingly John gave in to his partners' demand and laid down on the sofa lengthwise. He, too, ran his fingers over the younger one's body now and began to unbutton his shirt. When he had done it they removed shirts and jumper, but immediately sank into the passionate kiss again.

For a moment John withdrew his lips from Sherlock's to ask him to transfer this to the bedroom. The younger pulled him up in a kiss and didn't break the contact after this either, but pushed him along into his bedroom. He closed the door behind him and promptly John tried to take over control by pushing Sherlock against the door and unbearably slow ran his hands over the pale body. When he stopped shortly before reaching the waistband of his trousers and moved up again instead to massage his nipples, Sherlock moaned quietly. Now John's mouth wandered down to the neck of the taller one and kissed gently at first, got more demanding over time and every now and then bit into the sensitive skin. Sherlock moaned voicelessly multiple times. When John noticed that his partner was hardly able to stand upright any more, he pressed himself against the slim body in support, placing one of his legs between Sherlock's and stroking the bump in this trousers with it.

Sherlock thought he couldn't last a lot longer and took all his strength and will together to push John towards the bed. He clawed into the smaller one's shoulders and united their lips in a kiss with all of his passion, bent his leg so his knee pressed against John's crotch. Same one moaned intemperately, but Sherlock sealed his mouth again immediately. He pushed down his partner onto the bed and then pulled him up on it when he knelt over him.

With the left hand Sherlock took care of John's left nipple, then he placed his passionate kiss into his neck and John moaned quietly, tilted his head for Sherlock to reach better. Then he felt Sherlock's right hand running down his side, laying down on his completely swollen bump and massaging it with a firm grip. John nearly lost his self-control and repeatedly moaned in a rough voice while trying to do Sherlock the favour himself, though he could hardly concentrate on his hand and therefore gave up only after a short time which resulted in Sherlock protesting in a sigh.

Still he ran his soft lips over John's collarbone down to take over from his own hand, which then ran down between their bodies to open his own trousers.

Relieved by his newly won freedom from his tightened waistband he breathed a sigh onto the older one's skin and then began to enclose his nipple with his lips, nibbling at it every now and then.

"Ngh!" came across John's lips and made the detective look up in his face without removing neither his hand from John's crotch, nor his mouth from John's, by now pretty overstrained, nipple.

The lust in his partner's distorted face and same one's continued moans broke his hesitation and he opened, for John's relief, his overstrained trousers as well. Then he removed both their trousers and short .

One more time he ran his fingers over John's muscular body until he reached his hips. He pulled up the smaller one's legs and laid them on his pelvic bone, carefully slipping one finger into John's arse.

"Just relax." he whispered to the older before he used more fingers to prepare his partner. After a short time Sherlock pulled out his fingers again and pushed forward his erection quickly to not give John a chance to tense up before he had even entered him.

John clenched his teeth and tried to suppress a cry of pain as hard as possible, but when Sherlock's fingers grabbed his prick and moved in the same rhythm as his hips, the meanings of pain and lust just became the same and he allowed himself to just let go, clawed into the sheet and after a while both came with each other's name on their lips.

They had laid still for a while. John's head on Sherlock's chest, just saying nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5 - Confusion

Oh, snap! Sorry, I was so busy last weekend, I completely forgot to upload the chapter and I only noticed just now! Forgive me, the few reader I have! Well, here you go, nontheless, and there will be a new chapter this sunday! Hope you enjoy it anyway.  
Have fun  
Kats

**Confusion**

John's head on Sherlock's chest, they just said nothing until they suddenly heard the buzz of a mobile phone. Unwillingly they moved away from the other and checked their phones.

"Ah, shit!" John grumbled in the living room. Sherlock joined when he read 5 messages from Mary.

"Who is Mary?" Sherlock asked scrutinizing him.

"She's a friend, well, best friend-" he stopped abruptly and looked into the eyes of the head resting on his shoulder. "I'm not in a relationship, if that's what you're thinking." he clarified and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's cheekbone – the one he had hit earlier that day. He was still a little angry, deep inside, but he was simply happier about him being back for that he wanted be any more grudging.

He lowered his look to his phone again.

**5:41 pm | **John, what's wrong? M  
**5:44 pm | **Please come back here, I can't carry all this myself.. M  
**5:50 pm | **I left half of it at the store now, sitting in cab back home! M  
**6:17 pm | **John, I'm starting to worry, please respond! M  
**6:49 pm | **I'm driving to your old flat, if you're not there and don't call, I'll call the police.. M

"Sherlock, put on your clothes. NOW!" the former army doctor ordered and collected his own jumper from the couch. Then he ran back into the bedroom and put on the rest of his clothes, rushed into the bathroom to get a quick splash of water into his face, sorted this tousled hair and then joined same one on the couch, not without hectically running into the table again and cursing about it.

With pain he let himself down on the sofa and lay a hand on Sherlock's leg, who then placed his arm around him to gently stroke up and down on his side, goose-pimples running all over the smaller body. He was just about to lean onto his partner, when they heard footsteps on the creaking stairs. John prepared an explanation for Mary, when the door opened and Mrs. Hudson, armed with a cleanser, carefully peeked into the room. She jumped heavily as she saw the two men and started to laugh a hearty laugh.

"It's you! I thought there was a burglar in the house. But, wait! Sherlock!" she dropped the cleanser and approached the men, who stood up right away.

She hugged them both – first Sherlock, then John – warmly and then reproached John for not even calling her in a long time. She then turned to Sherlock happily, asked about how he was doing and scrutinized him extensively until the door bell rang.

"Are you expecting any visitors?" the older lady asked and wagged her hands in the air straight away. "I'll go make some tea. You two just stay here, I'll get the door. Ha!" and the watched her walk down the stairs excitedly. A few seconds later they heard steps again, but they sounded differently. Of course, it had to be Mary.

"John?" she inquired as she stepped through the door. "John, there you are.. Why didn't you reply to me?!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear my phone." he said in slight embarrassment when he thought about how distracted he had to have been to not perceive it.

"Didn't hear?! I sent 5 messages! And who-" she stopped. Now it got clear to her. "I see.. You would be Sherlock Homes then, I assume. Good to see you rose from the dead? You said he was dead."

"Yeah, well, that's what I thought. Until I received a message from him and just came to see for myself." he replied looking at the floor.

"Mary." the woman just said and offered Sherlock a hand. He immediately noticed she had to be left-handed and therefore gave her his left hand as well, laying it around John again. He didn't stand up for her.

He saw right away that she had to be interested in John more than a friend and put on his cold mask again. He wasn't planning to give his partner to woman again, now he had finally bridged the gorge between the two of them.

"I'm really sorry, Mary!" John tried again.

"No, it's fine. You grieved for two years when he left you with his death without giving you any reason at all. I understand that you just switched off when he suddenly reappeared." John believed to hear a certain sarcasm and reproach in Mary's tone, not against himself, but against Sherlock, but he simply ignored it. "Nevertheless, you could have at least given me a hint at the store. You just stood there, pale and motionless – I thought you'd pass out any moment." Now she sounded more concerned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes to the window, still not removing his arm from around John's body. Her attempt to push him out of John's favour loathed him and he didn't even start to fight back. He was still too content and stuck in that moment from before, in their own game, which left him shocked by the flood of emotions on the one hand, but on the other hand kept him captive under its spell, making it impossible to think clearly right now.

"Yes, Mary, as I said.. I am sorry. But you know how I felt all that time and when I got that message from my" he squinted over to Sherlock who looked at him again and saw the reproachful look in John's gaze "supposedly dead best friend," he let his eyes wonder over the floor and up to Mary again as he went on talking "I just didn't know anything any more.. It's not going to happen again."

Mrs. Hudson marched into the flat again, carrying a tablet with a teapot and three cups , putting them on the table and left, while throwing around apologies for interrupting, taking the dishes still standing there from the 'talk' under four eyes and now cold, of course, with her.

John offered a cup to Mary with a gesture, which she gratefully accepted. So he poured some tea in all three cups, added the proper amount of sugar into Sherlock's – which the latter was surprised by since he didn't expect John to still remember that detail after those years, but he obviously never forgot that habit – and handed both their cups. They drank. Remainded silent.

Mary took a look at her watch. "I have something to do, still. Now, are you coming or not, John?" she asked more demandingly than considering and emptied her cup.

"Ah, y... yes, right away. Just... just give me a minute, please." he answered surprised. Mary left the flat already to hail a cab and make it wait for John.

"Sherlock-" John started, didn't get any further though.

"No, no, John. It's fine. I was dead and you build yourself a new life, I absolutely understand that." he answered warmer than usual, but still in stabbing cold.

"Really?" John asked sceptically. Sherlock never understood that people grieved over the loss of another, but would that count for his own death, too?"

"Really. Go. You can text me tomorrow." said the younger completely monotonous and without even looking at John.

"Wait, why me?! Why don't you just text me?"

"I already did that. Is it now my responsibility to keep the contact? Oh, please, John. It's only fair, if you communicate your interest in the contact to me now." Sherlock chuckled lightly. John sighed, emptied his cup, got up and turned towards the door.

"Wait. How did you know I was here?" Sherlock asked grinning roguishly.

"Well, you said I'd know where to find you. There were two options: The grave or the flat. Since I was the one who threw your phone onto your bed angrily two years ago, it was obvious you'd be here. Anyway, nobody texts someone from their grave. Do you really think I am that dumb?"

"No, not at all. I just wanted to check whether your in the shape for working with me again soon." the detective grinned.

"THAT is your test? A child could've passed it." Slightly insulted John approached the door. Did Sherlock mock on him or did he really think he was that stupid?!

"Did you solve my case then?"

John stopped, answered sadly, slightly depressed. "How could I? You thought of that plan to fool me, how would I be able to solve it now?"

"Your thinking is so wonderfully simple." whispered Sherlock into his ear and before John could wonder how he'd managed to get to him so fast and unnoticed, he received a soft kiss.

"Until tomorrow, John." the younger said, turned around and walked around the room to check on his chaos.

John left without another word, got into the waiting cab outside and drove home with Mary. He didn't hear any of the words she said, still mentally bound to Sherlock's lips.


	6. Chapter 6 - Confessions

As promised the chapter is up in time ( though sunday may not be sunday on every continent on the same day - I'll just stick to German times ;) ). Thanks alot, again, to ChickaDelSol/Marilou for constant reviewing! I'll consider everything you say and make adjustments :)  
Well, now. No more talking. Have fun!  
Kats

**Confessions**

"Until tomorrow, John." the younger said, turned around and walked around the room to check on his chaos.

John left without another word, got into the waiting cab outside and drove home with Mary. He didn't hear any of the words she said, still mentally bound to Sherlock's lips.

[Let's take a look at Sherlock ;)]

After a few minutes in which he had noticed nothing had been done in the flat, other than apparent dusting every now and then, Sherlock grabbed his violin, lowered the bow to the strings and just started playing. He didn't concentrate on the notes he was playing, just let his trained hand follow its instincts, while he drove off into his thoughts.

Of course he hadn't been testing John's intelligence. He wanted to know how John had been shortly after his death and how he felt about him now actually being alive. His reaction showed hurt, anger, despair, still present today. Begrudging. But they lay beneath a cover of happiness, joy, positive surprise over the regained life.

Then anger took over the detective. Anger for himself. He had been in love with his partner for long years and even though he always suppressed that feeling to protect the both of them, he now had to admit it. But he got carried away by the game of his body's hormones. Did he really reach his limit of self-control that easily?  
His armed tensed for a second and a chord with the sound of utter torment reach his ears. He pulled himself together quickly, started playing again and continued tracing his thoughts. He had to get everything sorted now and he knew that.

Initially his plan was to explain John the circumstances of his disappearance, without giving away too much, but when he saw his friend after those two years – after those two years of pain –, he wanted nothing more than to rock himself in the safety of those arms that would always have welcomed him, if only he'd let his pride allow him to fall into them. He never really took it seriously, the care John showed for him. He never really thanked him, didn't want to open up. Just locking it all up inside. The love for the one person that, despite his admitted intolerable sociality, didn't laugh at him, didn't avoid him, didn't insult him, treated him with respect and friendliness. Not formally. Not as an etiquette. Out of a kind heart. Out of honesty. He never gave it the appreciation it deserved. Locked it behind a door of the thickest glass. Together with the pain and loneliness that struck him when he saw John with a woman. Locked and sealed. And then John came. A single look from him cut the glass like a diamond. The emotional implementation of Moriarty's break through the glass around the crown jewels.

Sherlock snorted. Moriarty. He, who's fault it was John got angry, in the first place. That he was hurt and abandoned. It was his fault Sherlock had to live in total isolation for two years, literally fought for his life, just waiting for someone to finally do what he was to scared to do. Scared. Maybe even hopeful. Hopeful for something better. Hopeful for John. John.  
John, who had opened the room stuffed with emotions. John, who made the flood of feelings roll through Sherlock's palace from the top through every single room. John, who blocked his mind from clear thinking, dragging him into his game and getting lost in that game himself. John. _His John._  
He didn't know how to go on from here. He had lost control once and was afraid to lose it again. He wanted it. His heard begged for it. Begged for closeness. Begged for John.  
His brain, however, predicted failure. He probably would lose his concentration. His work would suffer from it. His intelligence. Everything he had worked for. All those years. For nothing.  
He thought about himself. His behaviour. He'd hurt John either way. By rejecting him or driving him insane with his nature.

Once again Mrs. Hudson entered the room, though Sherlock didn't notice her until she spoke.  
"Why did they leave, now? Oh, Sherlock, You just bring chaos to people's lives, whether you are there or not. But let me tell you something:" she said in a warm-hearted tone. Sherlock lowered his instrument and turned to her. He looked at her as carelessly as possible, but the elderly lady knew emotions no matter how well hid they were and she saw his unrest.  
"You're dearest to all of us alive." She put a plate of the freshly baked biscuits next to the tea and took two of the cups with her.  
Sherlock observed her looking in pain and thankful at the same time.

"Please, eat the biscuits! I don't want to see I made them for nothing, after all." The woman smiled, turned and went to the door.  
"And your play... It was beautiful. As if it told its whole own story. Please tell me You are composing it right now."  
Sherlock shook his head, since he didn't remember what his instrument had been singing anyway. The woman look at him sadly and worried. Then she started smiling again and said softly:  
"That changing mood in the melody, the changing rhythm and the irregularly changing time signature... It tells Your story." Still smiling, she turned and went down the stairs.

Then it got clear to Sherlock. The woman's words woke him from his coma. Her words were: /'Please tell me You are composing it right now.' - Present tense, still ongoing, unfinished action. _His _story, _his _life. Still ongoing, unfinished action./ He mustn't think about his own decisions that much. Just needed to find and practise moderation. He could just live his every day life as he did before. Decorating the time he spent with John with emotions. He smiled contently, let violin and bow unite once more and played. For a long time.

[Back to John]

Even as Mary and he were home he couldn't hear her. She probably gave up already, anyway. Without a word he went to his room and sat on his bed, looked out through the window, up into the sky, into nothing. By now his thought turned around what he had done with Sherlock. But he didn't stroll down on the memories of Sherlock's openness or the fingers on his skin, but of how it happened. First he was angry and then he was in the middle of a game of lust and desire. Had those been feelings for his friend long suppressed? Because of embarrassment? Because of uncertainty? No. Because of reflection! He never wanted to admit to be be in love with Sherlock because he never wanted to admit to desire someone of the same gender. He had suppressed himself all the time subconsciously and Sherlock's sudden blooming was the key. The key to the only locked door inside of his emotional world. A door that kept the biggest room inside of him locked firmly. All the other rooms of emotions had been twisted, puzzling, labyrinth or inn for further doors, which John never dared to open. Now that the supportive door fell out of its frame, it collapsed, pulling rock after rock from the unclear wall in his heart and John understood where the unfathomable depth of his emotions came from. One key to answer all questions and united all his feelings. He felt relieved and embarrassed. He had completely surprised his partner when same one opened his locked door.  
Would Sherlock be uncomfortable with that? He himself had slept with lots of women – never with another man, though, but sexuality was nothing new to him. Sherlock on the other hand had already entered unknown terrain with sharing his feelings.  
And John thought of his love confession. And the word confession became a whole logical sense in that. Both of them really confessed something. Awoke something that had been sleeping deep inside of them and confirmed themselves, confirmed each other that it was there. And he had challenged his friend right away. He was sorry, but he didn't regret it.  
He grinned when he thought about all those times he bitched around about not being gay. The many times he did towards Mrs. Hudson alone. And how often he had defended Sherlock without even really noticing. Towards Donovan. Towards Anderson. Even towards his brother. He delt like laughing Mycroft right into his face because Sherlock finally showed some emotions. He was 'The Virgin' any more. He was his friend. _His Sherlock. _  
He closed his eyes and drove off into memories. The time they had lived together. How many times did John mentally curse Sherlock's boredom. How loud had he mentally screamed about the story with Irene Adler, wished that those compositions for her had been for himself. Now he had earned a much higher price for all that. Sherlock's love.  
He finally felt fulfilled. Right. Didn't deny he had to be gay or at least bi any longer. Without force. He wanted. He wanted to be wholly and fully. He wanted to be Sherlock's. And he thought he'd heard a violin. Not around him – inside him. The sound of Sherlock's uncontrolled controlled movements of the bow on the strings echoed in his ears. And he played something entirely new. Without sound, but with so much feeling. He played for him. For John.  
For the first time in two years he would be able to sleep calmly tonight. Without nightmares of Sherlock dying in any physical, psychical or metaphorical way. And he would call his friend. The next morning. And he would meet him. And he would apologise and stay with him the whole day.


	7. Chapter 7 - Breakfast?

I know, I'm late again and the chapter even is a very short one, but somehow I just didn't make it yesterday. It isn't that grave a mistake, I know, but I hate breaking my own deadlines - the story be read or not. Anyway, it isn't as bad as the last time I missed the date, at least, so please accept my appologies and just keep reading, will ya? :D And do dare to leave me some feedback, guys. It's great having a managable number of fans, but I can handle more than one ;)  
Have fun!  
Kats

**Breakfast?**

The next morning John awoke relaxed, kept his eyes shut. Thoughts about the previous day flashed up under his eyelids and he smiled in content, his heart raced in excitement. A tingly feeling spread around his stomach and chest. Finally he opened his eyes and felt almost a little disappointed to not find himself being besides his friend that exact moment, but then thought it was probably for the best at this time. Once again he closed his eyes, enjoyed the memories and then sat up.

He thought, for a moment, whether he should call or text Sherlock already, looked at the time and decided against it for now. Instead, he stood up and went into the bathroom of the small flat. When he'd finished his shower, he got back into his room right away and grabbed his mobile. He couldn't wait any longer, had to at least leave Sherlock a text, in case he was still asleep, so that the first look at his mobile would already present him John's attention.

He typed and sent without thinking about it.

**9.56 am | **Good morning. Breakfast together? JW

He jumped a little when he received an immediate response.

**9.56 am | **I'm bored. Come over. SH

Not sure what the demand was intending he thought about his next message twice.

**9.58 am | **Ok, will be on my way. Should I bring breakfast? JW

**9.58 am | **Do whatever you want. SH

Unsure about that cold response John got dressed and left the flat. He stopped by a bakery and bought baps before taking a cab into Baker Street. After a cab ride that seemed to take at least half an hour, on the one hand because he was looking forward to seeing Sherlock, on the other because he was still unsure about that message, he took his old key and opened the house's door. Leisurely he climbed the stairs and didn't find anyone in the flat at first.

"Sherlock?" he quietly shouted into the small flat – he didn't want to wake or disturb Mrs. Hudson.

"Jooohn!" Sherlock's voice sounded suffering. John decided the sound came from Sherlock's bedroom and he took fast steps towards it. A little worried he hurried to open the door, only to find his friend lying on his bed, looking bored.

"I'm bored, John. Do something!"

"Are you serious?" he said more reproachful than asking.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing Sherlock.. Absolutely nothing! I brought baps, maybe I carve a friendly face into the crust so you can talk to them. Better: I'll just get the skull. It's quicker, I can eat breakfast at home with Mary and you're in a familiar situation, hm?" John through at him sarcastically.

He turned around again and left the room. "John, wait! What is it?"

"What is it?!" the doctor was close to rage, but calmed himself down with deep breathing and jerky hand movements.

"After what happened yesterday, I come here in the morning, buy breakfast for us to eat together and you complain about being bored?!"

The detective had come out of his room by now and leaned into the now closed door. "Well, if I am." he said self-evidently.

What right did he think he have-? John's anger and hurt grew and he purposely showed them in his body language, his eyes.

"I am not your toy!" he spit in Sherlock's direction, who obviously didn't understand what upset his partner.

"We have sex and then you get bored and demand me to come here?! Why, so I can free you from boredom for another few hours, so I can fulfil your sexual needs?!" he bellowed quietly in indignation and hurt.

The younger let his shoulders droop and closed his eyes. Knit his brows. "John.." he said resigned. "I didn't mean it like that... I thought for quite a while yesterday. About what had happened and therefore my feelings." He took a step closer to John and looked him in the eyes. Before he could get lost in the grey blue he continued quickly, sounding a little petty.

"I want to try to allow emotions, to you." John heard the emphasis on the last two words clearly. So he wanted to open up for him and only for him. But then why was he being so rough and emotionless just then?

"I played the violin the whole night and I can't even remember what I have been playing, but according Mrs. Hudson it was full of my emotions. You know me, give me some time. I'm not used to express my feelings for a long time and without you it was just seriously boring. I couldn't sleep either and I just wanted you to motivate me to doing something.." John's mouth went dry. Mentally he scolded himself for forgetting this side in Sherlock.  
A little embarrassed he looked at the floor and then back up into the blue eyes.

He gave the taller a soft kiss. "Breakfast?"


	8. Chapter 8 - Dessert

Hello, again :) Actually, there's not much to say this time, so I'm just gonna leave you with the next chapter, I guess ^^ Caution: Smut! (again :D)

Kats

**Dessert**

"Breakfast?"

Still relieved by John's reaction Sherlock answered with a silent "Yes." and they prepared a small breakfast on the table in the living room.

Positively surprised John watched his friend eating, too, which had been a rarity in the past. They didn't talk for long, until John's mobile vibrated, that was. He looked at it and read one message from Mary.

**10.12 am | **Where are you? Are you with Sherlock? M

He answered with a simple "Yes" and put the device away again. He didn't want to break the mood by using his phone now. So he ignored all following text messages and just sat there with his friend.

"You know, I, too, thought a lot yesterday." he finally began a conversation. "You're the best thing that could've happened to me." he smiled softly.

"Even though I am a man?" Sherlock asked in fake surprise. If it had really bothered John, he hadn't let all that happen and hadn't kissed him again just before.

"Yes, even though you're a man." he laughed. Sherlock smiled when he heard the hearty laughter. John looked at him from the corner of his eye for a short moment. The loving smile made his heart bloom. When those iced-blue eyes met his, however, time seemed to stop for a moment.

"Just ask." came it from the low voice.

Since they split yesterday John had a question he was burning to ask and it didn't surprise him at all that Sherlock had noticed.

"Uh, no, it's fine." he rejected the question. He couldn't ask. It would embarrass him.

"An unpleasant question? Is it about sex, then? The one we had yesterday?" he asked challenging.

/Dammit. How the hell does he do that?!/ John thought and avoided Sherlock's eyes.

"What do you want to know?" now he sounded loving, gentle, soft again. John saw a smile so gentle he couldn't possible escape it. There was an incredible warmth in Sherlock's eyes that filled John's whole body.

"Why don't you guess, master-detective!" he said coquettishly.

"I never guess, John." he answered steadfastly, confident, but no less soft.

John rolled his eyes smiling. "Then deduce the answer. 'Cause you won't get me to ask." he said confidently and took another bite.

"You want to know why I was so good." said the detective twitching and eyebrow. John's eyes widened, he fixed his stare to the floor and because of that he missed the joking grin on Sherlock's face.

"Wait, that actually was your question?" the younger started laughing loudly. John looked at him dumbfounded. "I wasn't even serious about that! I had no idea what your question was!" The doctor disappeared behind his palms in embarrassment. His partner continued laughing for another moment until he calmed down and started inferring.

"Why did I know how to deal with the situation although I very clearly and obviously had no experience on that field? Honestly I asked myself the same question. I didn't think in that situation and just let go, acted automatically." he confessed amused by himself. He lay a finger under John's chin and made him look up to him. His face was still shaded in a light pink when Sherlock looked at him warm and loving and therefore calming him.

When John was fully calm again and now looked deeply into his partner's eyes, same one started talking again.

In a soft-serious voice he said "I just appear to be a natural" and started chuckling again.

John moaned in embarrassment and turned away offended again. He almost had to laugh at himself because of falling for Sherlock making fun of him. But silently he thought /Just you wait! Your going to laugh on the other side of your face sooner than you'd expect!/

He took a deep breath, pulled himself together, turned around and said serious and determined "Stop it!"

Sherlock was silent immediately, not knowing how to cope with this sudden change of mood and met the former military doctor's stiff eyes with uncertainty.

"One more attempt to make fun of me, I dare you!" he threatened him seriously. Sherlock got goose-bumps at the harsh peremptory tone. His heart beat faster and he could hardly believe himself how much this dominant behaviour appealed to him.

John's eyes were still locked on Sherlock's when he couldn't restrain himself any longer and kissed him passionately. Taken by surprise by his friend Sherlock kissed him back without thinking and felt two strong hands pulling him towards them by his shirt. Breathing fast because of this rough behaviour, he was pulled into a standing position and lugged into his bedroom.

"Close the door!"

"John-"

"Close. The. Door!" John commanded as he pulled him down at his eye level. He might be smaller than Sherlock, but that didn't mean he'd let himself be made subordinate to him.

Sherlock did as he was ordered. His breath becoming more and more flat. Then John pushed his whole weight against him, pinning him to the door. The tight space made it almost impossible to breath and when John started kissing him again, he breathed loudly through his nose. Eventually he wriggled out of the kiss to catch his breath, but was soon taken by his partner again, who at least did him the favour to use shorter kisses, but still not giving him too much space.

John now took his hands off the door and let them slide beneath his lover's shirt to play with his nipples. His lips went to the neck and kissed, nibbled and sucked passionately and demandingly at the sensitive skin. Sherlock moaned voicelessly multiple times. Every attempt to touch John was blocked by same on. He opened Sherlock's shirt unbearably slowly. His hands didn't return to touching his body, but were placed on the door again, which made the younger give a disappointed moan. But John had another plan in mind.

Provocatively slowly he ran hi mouth to his ear, nibbled at the lobe and then murmured "Are you still up to laughing?!". The hot breath stoking from his ear over his neck elicited a moan from Sherlock. Scarcely able to contain himself he was when his friend's lips continued their way down his neck, over the collarbone, to his hard nipples in the same slow motion. He was trembling from arousal, pushed his pelvis forward to John. Now it was his time to moan because Sherlock, in this movement, had pressed his erection against John's since their bodies were so firmly pressed against each other anyhow. John quickly took his trousers off and pressed against Sherlock again, rubbing his erection on the other one's. The thin cloth of his shorts was painfully rubbing and he decided to get rid of them, too.

Sherlock was still standing there in his trousers and John didn't plan to free him from them just yet. Instead he grabbed the bulge and massaged his erection. The younger now released a loud moan and, not knowing what to do, he took a firm grip on his friend's arse, who didn't give any contradiction, but determinedly took one hand and lay it on his cock. His lips then attacked the other's again in a breathless kiss and one hand slipped into the curly hair, the other he laid on the slim hip.

His kisses became more hasty and his moaning became louder at the pumping of the hand on his penis.

When he could barely contain it any more he buried his face in Sherlock's neck, marking him with short kisses and hot breath. A breathless, throaty noise reached Sherlock's ear as the hands on his hip and in his ear tightened their grip. He could barely contain himself any more now and begged John

"John, please! I can't hold it any longer!"

"Oh, really? We'll see!" he said mercilessly. He tore himself away from his friend, pulled him away from the door and pushed him down onto the bed. Sherlock's fingers clenched into the mattress, his face was contorted by lust. John pulled off his trousers, stroking deliberately accidentally over the bulge of Sherlock's shorts, who was panting heavily. John's arousal might be gone, but his lust was still burning deep inside him.

Almost unnoticeable were his hands running over Sherlock's body. The muscles tensing at every touch. He then stroke along Sherlock's arms and pulled them up over the tall man's head

"John!" came a noise of suffering from the mouth right under him.

"Yes Sherlock?" he asked provocatively.

"Please! I can't hold it any longer!" the man writhed.

John licked Sherlock's lower lip seductively, saw the younger clenching his jaws together. He pushed forward his tongue more forcefully until the soft lips finally parted, releasing hot breath into John's face. His whole body was trembling with arousal. The desperate noises from under him and the feeling of power over Sherlock turned him further on. He placed his lips at the pale neck again and very slowly ran his hand over every muscle on his partner's body, down to the shorts, pushed them down a bit and took a firm grip on the erection. He slowly increased the speed in which he pumped the hard cock and let go of Sherlock's hands, due to length of the writhing and stretching body, felt the long fingers grabbing his, now again, hard cock, adjusting the speed to John's.

They drove each other wild until they came almost simultaneously with loud panting.

John rolled onto his back and they lay beside each other breathing heavily. He pushed his arm under Sherlock's head, who turned towards him and John started running his fingers up and down his back. His partner placed soft kisses on his chest.

They fell asleep and didn't wake up until afternoon.


End file.
